


The Education of Eloise Bridgerton

by theaa



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: MLM WLW solidarity, Other, benedict is absolutely bisexual don't fight me on this, eloise is very niave but she's a baby figuring things out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28350429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaa/pseuds/theaa
Summary: Eloise took another drag of the cigar, freezing when she heard the crunch of boots on the grass behind her. She turned, remembering Benedict’s fondness for catching her out here, and hoped it was him and not another less forgiving member of her family. Sure enough, the tall slender figure striding towards her was definitely the second oldest Bridgerton sibling, and she relaxed again.In which Eloise is frustrated with her experiences on the marriage mart and Benedict has a confession, which he hopes will help. Bridgertons look out for one another, after all.
Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Henry Granville, Eloise Bridgerton/OC
Comments: 54
Kudos: 632





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Noncompliant with the books, of course. Inspired by my binge of the show and B + E's delightful scenes together. I would love to believe Benedict is a little gay, and Eloise too.

Eloise watched the end of her cigar glow orange in the gloom of Bridgerton House's gardens. The swing set she was balancing on was old and rickety – Gregory and Hyacinth had long since moved on from the thing, and now it existed solely as the place Eloise came to sit and brood. And smoke, of course. Mother would have her head if she saw her with a cigar inside the house.

She scuffed her shoes gently in the dirt and set herself swaying gently, taking a deep drag. The summer air was stiff and heavy still, uncomfortably warm. The tendrils of her hair were sticking to her neck, glued there hours ago by the stuffy air of the ballroom she’d only recently escaped. Her mother was still dragging her along to parties and picnics and dances, though lord knows why. No one wanted her, not really, except maybe for the attachment to her name, and she was interested in no one in return. Anthony could save himself some blunt if he only listened to her and stopped paying for endless new dresses, meant to entice her into attendance. Or maybe it was intended to guilt her into attending. Either way, it was a damn waste. No amount of dastardly chiffon was going to change that.

She blew out the smoke from the corner of her mouth in a jaunty fashion she’d been not-quite-practicing, the way she saw a gentleman smoking once when she’d snuck a glance into the gambling rooms they often set aside for men at parties. He’d perfected a single smoke ring too, but she’d been unable to replicate that as of yet, a fact that niggled at her.

It was odd, she thought. Outside, London was still teeming with life. It was only just past midnight, and for some, she was certain, that meant their day was just beginning. Innkeepers and deliverymen, bakers, and bow street runners. Ladies of the night, even. All just a few miles away. From the silence that encased Bridgerton House, you’d never be able to tell. There was perhaps the sound of carriage wheels on the road outside, the tap of the horse’s shoes on the cobbles, the slamming of a front door, but that was it.

Tonight, Violet had nudged her gently towards Mr. Stourbridge, a second son from a respected family. Stourbridge was meant to be an amateur historian and had apparently even had the success of his papers being published in some journal or other. He was a few inches taller than her, did not accidentally call her by any of her sisters’ names (which had indeed happened), and did not step on her foot when they danced the quadrille. His conversation was polite and even bordered on intelligent. Violet had been delighted by her match. And yet.

_Nothing_.

She wished Daphne and Simon had not absconded from the city so permanently. She wanted to ask Daphne questions. Though their marriage had unusual beginnings, as Daphne had confessed, there was one thing that was clear to anyone with eyes – Daphne was deeply taken with her husband. _Besotted_ , Eloise would say. Disgustingly so. Daphne watched him when he talked, smiled when he did, gravitated towards him in a crowd, touched him gently, almost absentmindedly during idle conversation. Kissed him senseless when she thought no one was watching. (In her defense, Eloise thought they should have chosen a better setting for their moment than the breakfast room. Yes, it was generally empty during the day, but Eloise had left her book in there and was going to fetch it, and they’d left the door slightly ajar. She’d only paused a moment to watch.)

Anyway, Daphne loved her husband, clearly. And Eloise just _couldn’t_ envision it for herself. Every time she tried to think about being with someone in that way, she could never make the picture stay in her mind. It remained fuzzy and unfocused and then slipped away from her, tauntingly. Her husband never had a face or a name. She’d spent a long time attempting to imagine herself in Daphne’s position, imaging some gentleman pushing her back against the dresser, hitching up her skirts, kissing her desperately, but the image remained resolutely of Daphne and Simon and she only ended up feeling slightly sordid for conjuring up that memory so often.

She wanted to ask Daphne how she knew. How she knew she loved Simon and if things like kissing and conversation were different when you were in love. If it was easier.

She shifted on the swing and sent it swaying in the opposite direction, side to side, feeling restless.

Eloise took another drag of the cigar, freezing when she heard the crunch of boots on the grass behind her. She turned, remembering Benedict’s fondness for catching her out here, and hoped it was him and not another less forgiving member of her family. Sure enough, the tall slender figure striding towards her was definitely the second oldest Bridgerton sibling, and she relaxed again.

‘So, he returns,’ she said when Benedict had settled himself in the swing next to her, stretching out his long legs in front of him. ‘How did you manage to avoid the crush this evening then? Mother was most displeased at your absence.’

Benedict smirked and reached out an expectant hand for the cigar Eloise was holding. She gave it to him with an eyebrow raised and he chuckled. ‘And I am sorry for that. I was at my art club. I need not attend absolutely every social event this season, you know.’

‘You spend an awful lot of time at this art club,’ Eloise sniffed. ‘And you needn’t remind me of the benefits of being a male. I’m well aware that you can pick and choose which events hold your interest.’

‘Ah, but I’m also older than you, Sister, which is another advantage.’

‘Yes, well, if I am your age and still unmarried I shall be considered on the shelf, practically a social leper, so no one will care whether I go anywhere at all, which is another thing entirely.’

Benedict inhaled slowly and then let out a steady stream of smoke. ‘Is there not a certain freedom in that?’ he asked slowly.

‘There’s a difference between freedom and complete abandonment, brother,’ she snapped, sticking out her hand for the cigar. Benedict passed it to her reluctantly, shrugging.

‘I was just trying to make you feel better.’

‘Well, don’t.’

‘Duly noted.’

They settled into silence for a few minutes, passing the cigar between them, until Eloise sighed. Benedict cut her a quizzical glance.

‘You are too young to sigh like that, sister.’

‘You weren’t at the ball tonight, so you weren’t witness to my suffering. Mother has got it into her head that Mr. Stourbridge would be a perfect match for me.’

‘Stourbridge, the historian, is that? Well, at least he’s not simple. Or old.’ Benedict cocked his head to the side, ‘I was in his older brother’s year at Oxford, the Baron. Nice family. Never met the brother much but by all reports, he’s an affable fellow.’

‘Yes, yes, I know all that,’ Eloise said wearily. ‘That’s why Mother is so excited. He’s just come back from his tour and is apparently looking to marry.’

‘That’s practically catnip where mothers are concerned,’ Benedict chuckled.

‘Quite,’ Eloise said shortly.

Benedict paused, stopped by the sharpness of her tone. ‘You didn’t like him? Was he part of this evening's sufferings, then?’

‘He was perfectly nice. We talked about the history of the Greeks. He danced with me twice and I did not disgrace myself. He’s even perfectly nice to look at. He has that fluffy blonde hair that all the other girls seem to covet.’

‘And?’ Benedict prompted gently.

‘And Mother looked so damn hopeful all evening. I couldn’t stand it. It made me feel awful. He might come call tomorrow and then I shall have to go on a ride with him and it all just feels so pointless. I just cannot bring myself to do it. And yet I know if I wrote down a logical list of things I would like in a husband, he meets almost all of them. I should find him interesting, should I not? I should welcome the match, shouldn’t I? And yet I don’t!’ She let out a frustrated growl.

Wordlessly Benedict handed her back the cigar. It was burning low now, practically finished with. She took a last drag and then flung it to the floor, where Benedict ground it out with the heavy heel of his boot.

‘You have a mistress, do you not? What was it like with her? The modiste?’ Eloise asked suddenly.

Benedict was startled into a bark of laughter. ‘She and I stopped seeing each other months ago. We weren’t suited in the end.’

‘Are you seeing anyone now?’

She saw Benedict’s shoulders stiffen, just a little. She knew she was bold to talk of mistresses so brazenly, but really, she and Benedict were well past that point by now, surely.

‘Yes,’ Benedict replied. ‘I have someone that I see regularly.’

‘And are you happy with them? Are you attracted to them? How do you know that? What does it feel like?’

Benedict snorted, which was not the reaction Eloise was expecting. He tried to hide it by rifling in his coat pocket and drawing out another cigar and his lighter. The spark of the flame lit up his face, and Eloise could see he was smiling, his eyes crinkled with amusement.

‘Yes, I am attracted to them. And I am happy. I am quite the happiest I have been in a while,’ he answered eventually when the cigar was orange and glowing.

‘Did you know right away? That you, uh….’ Eloise lost a little confidence here, but attempted to plow on regardless. ‘that you… _desired_ …uh…’

Benedict smiled, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. ‘Actually, no. It took me a while to warm up, I suppose. But I did like them immensely first of all. We share similar interests.’

Eloise gasped. ‘Is your lady an artist too, then?’

‘No,’ Benedict answered simply, sucking on the cigar. They lapsed into silence again and Eloise leaned back on the swing, tilting her head to stare up at the moon, bright and round in the night sky, stark white against the velvety blackness.

Benedict’s voice interrupted her thoughts. It had lost all trace of the laughter from before. ‘I suppose I cannot explain it, Eloise, not fully. It’s meeting a person and wanting to hear whatever next comes out of their mouth, it’s being fascinated by the way they look and every expression on their face, it’s wanting to touch their skin just to feel closer, it’s a need that seems to almost settle in your stomach, pulling you forward. There’s no reason for it. It just _is_.’

Eloise gripped the rope and pulled herself upright slowly, glancing over at Benedict. He was staring at the sky too, up at the few stars that had managed to poke through the London smog. He was deadly serious. She had never heard him talk like that.

‘Well,’ she said finally, ‘I’m certain no one has ever made _me_ feel that way.’

Benedict turned to look at her, his gaze surprisingly piercing. That, added to the boldness of his speech, made her squirm in her seat.

‘Really? Not _anyone_ at all?’

She frowned, suddenly irritated. Was he just rubbing it in her face? What he described sounded wonderful. A tad strange yes, but she was drawn to the intensity of his description. She would give _anything_ to feel like that about someone, to break up the dullness and drudgery of the season, to have something exciting happen to her, to feel just a fraction of what her brother evidently had experienced. Perhaps she was just not fated to do so.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ she replied firmly, before adding somewhat cattishly, ‘Certainly not Mr. Stourbridge. He’s just so…. so _predictable_.’

‘I understand.’

‘Do you? You are not being pressured into marriage, after all.’

‘Not at this current moment, but I suppose my time will come,’ he said quietly. ‘And it will be just as predictable and I shall like it just as least as you.’

Eloise harrumphed in reply. There was a long silence. She watched as Benedict blew a perfect smoke ring, three in succession, up into the evening sky, and rolled her eyes.

‘Of course you can do that. I have been trying for months. Life is simply not fair.’

Benedict smiled. ‘You’re never predictable Eloise. Practicing blowing smoke rings in your spare time? What’s next, gambling? Breeches?’

Eloise sniffed. ‘I did get Colin to teach me a little of Risk before he left, and I have asked Mother if I may wear breeches, even just around the house, but she refused.’

‘Of course you did,’ Benedict laughed.

It was getting late, but neither of them made to move back into the house. Eloise doubted she’d be able to sleep in the heat anyway, would only lay in bed tossing and turning and getting all twisted in the sheets.

‘You know Eloise; I believe you are my favorite sibling.’

She snorted. ‘Don’t let Colin hear that, he’d be highly offended.’

‘I’m serious.’ And he sounded it. His voice was low and almost… somber. Eloise frowned.

‘Well, I appreciate it.’

‘Because you’re my favorite, I’d like to tell you a secret. You mustn’t tell anyone, alright?’

Eloise nodded vigorously, confused at the turn in the conversation, but always ready for moments like this. ‘I am excellent at keeping secrets. Just ask Penelope.’

Benedict smiled and exhaled a stream of smoke into the sky. He watched it unfurl slowly and disappear, and when he spoke he wasn’t really looking at her.

‘You asked me earlier about my art club. Certainly, I go there. We practice life drawing and landscapes and work on oils and charcoal and other mediums. But there is more to the club than that. It’s a gathering of like-minded individuals, I suppose.’

He paused and hauled in a breath. Eloise was on the edge of her swing seat.

‘Lots of the members have formed... relationships… with each other. It’s a free place and no one quite pays mind to what happens in the rest of the society when we are together. It’s a reprieve and a stimulant all at once. I have a friend there, a fellow painter.’

Eloise saw him swallow.

‘We are together, he and I. As more than friends. I like to talk with him, we can talk for hours and not run out of things to say, and he makes me laugh endlessly. And yes, I desire him also.’

He did not turn to look at her, his gaze seemingly fixed somewhere in the middle distance. There was stunned silence until Eloise eventually was able to open her mouth.

‘ _Oh_.’

And then, ‘How wonderful. That you feel that way. That you found a partner like that.’

She heard him pull in a shaky breath, but then he turned and he was smiling again.

Eloise’s throat suddenly felt very dry for some reason. ‘How did--? I mean when did?’

‘How did I know I liked him, or that I liked men?’ Benedict filled in. Eloise nodded stiffly to indicate the last question.

‘It’s not really a tale for your ears, but I suppose I was introduced to the idea and I found that it did not repel me, and he and I were already friends. It felt natural.’

Eloise nodded. ‘May I ask if you still… like women? I’m sorry, I don’t know how any of this works.’

‘I do. I wasn’t faking my earlier attractions.’ He shot her a smirk, closer to the expressions she was used to seeing on Benedict’s face. ‘I find that my palette has just widened, is all I suppose.’ He punctuated that with a wink.

This made Eloise giggle, which caused Benedict to break out into an answering grin. The cigar in his hand was forgotten, burned down, and he ground it out next to the previous one.

‘I hope Mother doesn’t notice the charred holes in the lawn.’

‘it is just as well no one comes out here anymore,’ Benedict chuckled.

‘Indeed.’

More silence, but fuller now somehow. 

‘Eloise.’ She looked up from the grass and met her brother’s brown eyes, the exact shade as her own. ‘I hope you find the same connection as I have one day. I believe it will be obvious when it happens. You may only need to…. widen your own tastes, perhaps?’

He raised a single dark eyebrow at her and Eloise felt her face flood with heat. She attempted to answer, to protest, but all that came out was a strangled sort of groan or a gasp. Benedict only smiled softly and pulled himself to his feet.

‘After all, there are as many pretty girls in London as there are handsome men, and I would hate for you to miss out sister dearest. Now, if you don’t mind, I will be going to bed. Don’t stay out here too long, will you?’

Eloise managed to shake her head. Benedict nodded, smiled again, and then turned to leave. He got a few paces across the garden before Eloise recalled her voice and called quietly after him.

‘Thank you, brother.’

He turned to give her a small sort of salute and then strode back towards the house, to the servants’ door she had originally sneaked out of, and disappeared.

Eloise sat on the swing seat and began to twist the ropes above her head together, pushing herself in circles with the toe of her boot. She used to do this all the time when she was younger, loved the gentle build-up, the exciting release, and the dizziness that came with it.

Benedict’s words felt permanently lodged in her brain. She had always thought women beautiful, but didn’t everyone? And she was certainly always more interested in what women had to say than what would come out of a man’s mouth next, that was for certain. And it was true, she had collected a not inconsiderate amount of carefully hidden postcards and prints of the Lady Hamilton, but that was because she was so daring and unconventional, was it not? She had always admired the softness of some ladies' skin, the pink in their cheeks, when forced to socialize at balls. She frequently stood back and watched fascinated as they swept their hands while talking and fluttered their fans with dainty fingers, pink rosebud mouths pursed or tilted into a soft smile. It was only logical that the men fell at their feet. She quite understood. She had never been able to replicate it herself, but she _understood_. Was that all it was, _understanding_?

For experiment’s sake, she conjured the image of Daphne and Simon again (apologized in her head _again_ ) and then imagined herself in Daphne’s place, up against the dresser, but instead of a man’s hand at her waist, she imagined a lady’s smaller one, imagined a light nimble frame pressing against hers, delicate fingers cupping her chin, soft red lips on her neck. Eloise’s stomach fluttered.

The foot she’d been using to twist herself stumbled and abruptly the swing unraveled. Eloise was thrown into orbit, the breath whipped from her lungs until the ropes untwisted with a final jerk. She was left gasping, clutching on to the rope, her palms stinging.

Oh, _god_.

Perhaps Benedict had the right of it. Perhaps she had been looking in the wrong places.

Perhaps this was worse than she could ever have imagined. And yet, perhaps it was better too.

She had a hypothesis to test now. An answer to find. And after all, there was nothing she liked better than that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eloise and Benedict make a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to carry on with this story a little as I was writing it in my head anyway. Hope you like it.

‘Eloise, is there any particular reason you have been trailing around after me the entire morning?’

Benedict, sprawled in an armchair by the fireplace with his legs propped on a worn embroidered ottoman, lowered his newspaper with an irritated shake and addressed his sister.

Eloise, who had been hovering by the library shelves - and not really reading any of the titles - jumped.

‘I was just trying to decide on my next book to read – this is the library is it not?’ she replied briskly, turning around to face him. Benedict raised an eyebrow.

‘In the farming and agriculture section? The only person who has need of those texts is Anthony and his steward. Were you thinking of taking up farming as a hobby?’

Eloise glared at him. ‘Perhaps I wish to be informed of these things.’

‘Well, you should know those books are out of date then,’ Benedict drawled, with a slight smirk. ‘Anthony gets the latest editions delivered to his study and dumps the old ones in here, so you’re out of luck.’

Eloise sighed and abandoned the bookshelves and her pretence, moving towards the damask sofa opposite Benedict’s armchair. She sat upon it primly with her hands twisted in her lap, which was enough to make her brother stare at her in confusion.

‘Whatever is the matter? You’re acting very strange, Eloise.’ He folded and set aside his newspaper, flinging it onto the side table and leaning towards her. ‘Are you ill?’

‘No, of course not,’ Eloise protested. She fidgeted a little. ‘There’s just something I want to ask you.’

‘Something you couldn’t ask me at breakfast? Or in the music room? Or when you passed me on the stairs earlier?’

‘No,’ Eloise said firmly. ‘The problem with having a big family is that they do tend to keep popping up everywhere at inopportune moments. I was waiting for Hyacinth to give up on her pianoforte practice earlier. You know she’s rather rotten at it - I think she did it to vex me on purpose. She’s never usually so dedicated.’

‘Hy has many talents, but I would agree a musical ear is not one of them, hence my leaving,’ Benedict replied dryly. ‘So, what is it you so obviously wish to tell me?’

‘Well, I suppose – that is…Well, I… I mean - _you_ -’ Eloise started, breaking off into an uncharacteristic stutter.

‘Good God, Eloise, spit it out. I’ve never known you to mince your words.’

She fidgeted a little more.

‘I want you to take me to your art club,’ Eloise finally managed to get out - only her words were a rushed jumble. Benedict had to pause to process her outburst, but when recognition dawned Eloise watched him shift back sharply in his chair, recoiling from her garbled request.

‘Absolutely not,’ he said firmly. ‘No.’

‘Benedict, it’s the _only_ way I shall ever get the chance to meet anybody other than some fop on a ballroom floor. You must see that. What am I supposed to do otherwise? Take myself off to Covent Garden myself when you are all in bed?’

She watched her brother’s eyes widen with alarm. ‘You wouldn’t.’

Eloise sighed. ‘No, I wouldn’t, you’re right. But I _did_ consider it. Briefly.’

Benedict opened his mouth, shut it again, and then frowned. ‘But you don’t even like art that much.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t be going for the art, _would_ I, brother?’

Benedict’s always expressive eyebrows furrowed and he heaved in a deep sigh. ‘It’s just not possible El. You’re an unmarried woman with a reputation to protect.’

‘Yes, I know, and might I say, it’s very dull to be such.’

‘Elouise! Have a care. If word got out you’d be ruined. As would Hyacinth, might I add.’

‘I rather think that Hyacinth will be able to manage her ruination on her own terms when the time comes, actually.’

‘ _Eloise_.’

She pushed herself restlessly to her feet and began to pace. ‘Are your friends not discreet? Surely they must be – you have not yet been dragged into Lady Whistledown’s scandal sheet, after all. What if I were to wear a domino? You could introduce me as a friend.’

Benedict followed her erratic movement from his chair, an eyebrow raised. ‘Eloise, your hair alone is a straight giveaway, no one but us has such a chestnut colour.’

‘I shall powder it. Better yet, I shall obtain a wig. Would that suffice?’

‘And just where would you get a wig from?’

Eloise laughed. ‘Oh brother, if you think every matron you meet in a ballroom is sporting all her own hair, you are sorely mistaken.’

Briefly distracted, Benedict pulled a face. ‘Truly? I guess I never really thought about it.’

‘Among other things,’ Eloise snorted. ‘But trust me, the wig will not be a problem.’

Benedict glowered at her. ‘You aren’t going to give this up, are you?’

Eloise stopped pacing and crossed her arms. ‘Absolutely not, no.’

‘You really are like a dog with a bone, Eloise.’

‘Resourceful and reassuringly steadfast?’ Eloise replied with a sweet smile.

‘Odiously obstinate and frequently infuriating, rather.’

‘I shall take that as a compliment.’

‘Of course, you will,’ Benedict sighed. Eloise only grinned.

‘So? Do we have a deal? I shall let you inspect my disguise and if you deem it acceptable, will you let me accompany you?’

Benedict hesitated and Eloise lost her air of determination, dropping back onto the sofa so as to look her brother in the eye.

‘Benedict, please. I have watched you visit your club every night this week. You come back any hour you please, with the freedom afforded to you as a man of rank, freedoms I can only aspire to. If I am to test my hypothesis—’

‘Hypothesis?’

‘ _Your_ hypothesis, actually.’ She held his gaze firmly. ‘Benedict you _cannot_ expect to have a conversation like that which we had a few weeks ago and then abandon me to sit in my room each night while you go out and enjoy a bold life. It isn’t fair. I want a chance at happiness and it is clear to us both that my chance of finding it amongst the gentleman I am being nudged towards in highly unlikely. Please, Benedict. I need to _try_. There are many pretty girls in London, Benedict. I want one I can _touch_ , please. I have to know.’

Benedict’s face slackened and he closed his eyes, almost looking as if he were in pain. Eloise bit down on her lip hard enough to sting and waited. Eventually, Benedict looked back up.

‘I have a final say on your disguise. You shall wear a domino and anything else you can think of that might possibly obfuscate your identity, you understand?’

‘Of course,’ Eloise replied, uncharacteristically demure. Benedict eyed her suddenly clasped hands with suspicion. She ignored him. ‘When do we plan to go?’

‘Saturday,’ Benedict replied immediately. ‘It’s to be a party of sorts, so you are less likely to be noticed.’

Eloise brightened. ‘A party? How thrilling.’

‘This is a terrible idea,’ Benedict groaned.

‘And I thank you for it anyway,’ Eloise replied, getting up to kiss him on the cheek. It was a sign of Benedict’s anxiety that he didn’t scrunch his face and immediately try to wipe it away, only sighed and twisted his mouth into a reluctant half-smile.

‘Yes, well… don’t thank me yet.’

Xx

‘That wig is entirely disconcerting, you know. The longer I look at it, the more confused I become. You really do not look like yourself, Eloise.’

Eloise reached up with a gloved hand to gently pat the elaborate wig that covered her natural hair. It was a honey blonde colour, twisted, curled and pinned into a loose but fashionable style, replete with navy ribbons to match her dress for the evening. Even Eloise had hardly recognised herself when she caught sight of herself in the glass a few hours ago. She gave Benedict a satisfied smile.

‘It is rather good, isn’t it? I nearly purchased a rather fetching raven coloured one, but I thought it might be too close to my normal shade. I’m so happy I settled on this one.’

‘Surely you didn’t dress it yourself?’

‘Of course not,’ Eloise snorted. ‘My maid helped me get ready.’ Seeing Benedict’s alarmed expression, she held out a calming hand to stop his protest. ‘And I bribed her well for it. She is the best of lady’s maids and is quite used to my antics. She won’t say a word, I promise.’

‘If you’re sure…’ Benedict grumbled.

‘Oh, I am.’

‘And you have your domino? The one you showed me earlier?’

Eloise bought up the mask in her hand up to her face, letting the detailed black mask cover her eyes, the decorative lace obscuring much of her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose as well. ‘Right here, brother. There, now you may relax.’

Benedict’s mouth settled into a grim line. ‘Eloise, I really can’t overstate how risky this evening could be – for us both. There are too many illegalities to count on one hand, and though social standing may offer _me_ some protection, if you’re recognised there will be nothing to save your reputation, and that is the one of the lowest things to worry about if the Bow Street Runners find us. Do you understand? And before you lecture me once more, I’m _aware_ of the inherent unfairness at play here. I just want you to be safe. If you suspect anyone has recognised you, you must come and find me, do you promise?’

Eloise nodded. ‘But what if I come to find you but you are… otherwise engaged?’

Benedict closed his eyes. Eloise thought he was trying rather hard not to swear. At least he made no efforts to turn the carriage around.

‘I shall endeavour not to be,’ he said firmly.

‘Will I meet this mystery lover of yours then?’ Eloise asked, pushing where she knew she ought to stop. She had never been good at being quiet when she should. Benedict’s cheeks coloured.

‘It’s a possibility,’ he answered, finally, before looking away.

Her curiosity piqued, Eloise sat back in the carriage and listened as the wheels trundled along. She could feel her heart beating oddly fast underneath her stays, and the wig felt heavy on her head. Her face was rouged and her lips heavily painted, which felt unnatural. It had been rather fun dressing up back in her room, but now as Benedict turned to stare out the window, Eloise felt the first flutter of nerves in her stomach. Benedict’s warning did make her pause a little, she admitted to herself, but it was rather too late to turn back now. And she did not consider herself a coward, either.

She straightened her gown (one of Francesca’s, who had always favoured darker colours) and bit down on her lip, trying to distract herself from the swooping feeling taking over her gut. This was what she wanted, was it not? A chance to see another side of society? To perhaps talk to someone like her?

The carriage came to a slow stop. Benedict turned back towards her, his gaze sweeping back over her disguise, which he was apparently still satisfied with. He gave her a sharp nod.

‘Well, we’re here. Ready?’

‘Of course,’ Eloise said, her voice at least still reassuringly steady. The footman opened the carriage door and Eloise set a heeled slipper down on the cobbled stones, bunching up her skirts. Benedict jumped lightly down beside her and offered her his elbow. The road was dark, a back alley obviously, but the house they were standing outside of was large and loomed up in the darkness, an obviously opulent townhouse. They were still in fashionable London, then. The windows were lit up and glowing, though Eloise could already see heavy curtain hung up in many of them, narrowing the light to slits. She fancied she could already see shadows moving behind them, people flitting around the house.

‘Well, here we go,’ Benedict said, half under his breath, so Eloise only just caught it. She made sure the domino mask was pinned securely, and then Benedict marched up to the door – large, but obviously a servant’s entrance – and knocked a sharp pattern. There was a scuffling noise and Benedict glanced back, as if he did in fact realise her nervousness. He flashed her a smile, a benevolent expression she was so used to seeing on his face it did almost calm her.

And then the door swung open. The night had begun.


End file.
